The New Jersey Panhandle
by Blue Buick R
Summary: House contemplates a career change.


Title: The New Jersey Panhandle

Author: BlueBuickR

Rating: G

Summary: House contemplates a career change.

Notes: This little bunny would not let me go. It is my first and probably last House fic. Feedback is always welcome.

Wilson spotted him as soon as he took the corner at a speed that was both stomach turning and wheel squealing. The figure was sitting on the curb to the sidewalk, right leg stretched out onto the road and in the line of traffic; the two cars ahead of him forced to swerve out of the way at the last minute. He ran a gritty hand down his face, unmindful of the smudge of grease transferring itself to his cheek. Perhaps if he looked pathetic and harried enough he'd get off with only a slight harangue.

But as he pulled up and stopped just short of running over a foot he caught the glare sent his way over the hood of the car, his hopes dashed. Squeezing the steering wheel tightly for a moment he took a deep breath and opened the door, loping around the front to stand by the slouched figure, hands open and apologetic, words already spilling from his lips.

"I am so sorry," he breathed.

"You're late," was the deadpan reply.

"I know, I'm sorry, I got a flat," he gestured to his rumpled shirt and grease smeared visage, throwing on his best hang dog expression.

"This might be news to you, but there are these amazing new fangled devices called cell phones which allow people who have them to call other people who have them and convey information such as delays and the like."

It was Wilson's turn to scowl. "I tried calling you, but I got bumped directly to voice mail. Someone turned their 'cell phone' off."

House frowned for a moment, shifting with a wince to dig his cell out of his pocket, looking it over quickly before shoving it back into the depths with a shrug. "It's a nuisance, stupid thing keeps on ringing!"

Wilson rolled his eyes and took in the man at his feet, noting for the fist time the hat set to the side, a scattering a coins and small bills filling it.

"What's this?" he pointed with his chin even as he bent down slowly to offer his arm.

House's frown deepened but he didn't refuse the arm, one hand coming up to grip Wilson's forearm while the other snagged the cane at his side, planting it firmly on the pavement as he levered himself to his feet.

"My compensation for sitting around on the cold pavement for forty odd minutes probably developing a bad case of hemorrhoids."

Wilson quirked an eyebrow waiting.

House reversed the cane and hooked the rim of the hat, carefully pulling it up without spilling any of its contents. Once in his hands he jiggled it a bit listening to the coins clinking together.

"I guess they thought I was a bum," he finally replied, voice pitched in feigned shocked. "Crippled up guy sitting on the sidewalk, hat in hand so to speak." He was shifting through the money, counting in his head.

Wilson snorted. "However could they have made such a mistake? Old guy in the gutter, un-kept and dressed like a refugee from Goodwill. Scandalous!"

House smiled a shark's smile. "Twelve bucks! Not bad." He stuffed the ill gotten money into his pocket, donning the hat once more. "Maybe I should make a weekend job out of this," he mused as he made his way over to the passenger side of the car. "Supplement my income."

Sliding back behind the wheel Wilson shot him a pinched moue of disapproval. "All evidence to the contrary, you are not a hobo."

The other doctor scoffed. "Neither are half the panhandlers in the state," he exclaimed. "I just need a better gimmick if I want to make the big bucks."

Wilson started the car and pulled back onto the road. "What, being pathetic and gimpy not enough for you?"

House pinched him in the side. Hard.

The car swerved for a moment before he regained control. "Ow!"

"I won't perform like some hungry musician, so that's out," the other man continued as if nothing had happened. "Maybe a dog or something, people always give more to the bums with pets."

"You hate dogs," Wilson pointed out.

"True," House hummed, tapping his lip with a long finger. "We could always stop at the next road kill rover we come across, I can get it stuffed!"

Despite himself he let out a bark of laughter. "I see now. Pathetic, lame, and deranged."

House's hand shot up, fingers snapping. "I have it! I can dress Chase up in a little hat and vest and put him on a leash. The dancing monkey is a bit cliché I'll admit, but still a classic."

This time he didn't even try to stifle the laugh. "Sorry," he snickered. "I have Chase turning tricks for me on the weekends."

House's eyes sparked. "Cameron it is then. She already has the vests."


End file.
